One More
by chapa3
Summary: Follow-up to the Ho Chi Minh Paper Trail. One-shot. Rock comes to terms with old memories that resurfaced following the events in Vietnam, by engaging in a gamble with one in six odds of success. (Note: Would make most sense to those that read Calabrian Gambit, Glass Rocks, and Ho Chi Minh Paper Trail first, in that order).


**AN:** One more, just had to get in one more for this fandom. Basically an epilogue for the Ho Chi Minh Paper Trail that I thought up half a year too late. Enjoy.

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Cold metallic against the small of my back, snub nose .38 revolver nestled around my crotch, creasing the lines of my black dress pants. Ray of light stemming from fluorescent ceiling lamp beaming upon a derelict warehouse floor by Shinawatra Avenue, the windows rolled down so the smell of compost from the nearby factory leaves the arena with a faint odor of shit. Sweat rolls down my neck as my ears sequester the isolated chatter of the upper floors, of gamblers and psychopaths, voyeurs unsatisfied that their pornographic snuff films lack just the right touch to make them climax.

My dance partner for this game of skill and will is a former friend of a creature with the rapidly loosening delusion that said creature is, and once ever was…a person. A warning to the gamblers in the rafters of what becomes when your reach for the American Dream outstretches your quivering grasp. Him too, an example I mean. It's damn cold here, damn cold.

" _STOP IT! STOP IT!"_

The brain is an incredible piece of machinery, in that it could block out memories, years of memories, just…lock them away in a forgotten condemned plot of its grooves, just for the greater good. That it cannot erase the virus, cannot prevent it from infecting the cells of the soul, so all it can do is quarantine it and hope no one thoughtless enough or vindictive enough would let their curiosity get the better of their common courtesy.

She had to dig through, ask those right questions, pick those locks, ask why her knight in grey armor acts the way he acts, thinks the way he acts, rambles the way he rambles, and gambles the way he gambles. Had the nerve to say I had it easy and sheltered and she was born in muck and dragged through broken glass and infected syringes. Look at the end result, she's unkillable. That's her curse. She is doomed to live like this forever, and ever, and ever. Like Prometheus having his guts ripped out again, and again, and again, and again.

Didn't want to wear a shirt today. No tape either. Luca's masterpiece needs some air, the scars rubbing against the steel. Feel that ASMR running up my spine, making the hairs on my head stand up, I think.

Luis still cleaning up the mess from before, got to get the pitch nice and primped, no imperfections, someone in the catwalk stands is taking photos, stretching every bit of capitalism out of this little sport. Hey, maybe they can put the 'Sony' logo on barrel, or name the arena 'The Allianz'. Would suggest the table first but Luis got rid of it a year ago. Cheaper to just use bleach and a mop.

Not like it was when I first met him, the stars of the show weren't this far apart. New location too, police complained. Luis…I think his last name is Acosta. Venezuelan guy, traded his last care in the world for a case of barbiturates. Thick moustache, long dark hair, thin framed glasses, looks like those 'hippies' that Dutch showed in the vintage newspapers. There is always a Luis Acosta somewhere, God's genius plan of letting the undesirables sort themselves out. With a smile, always with a smile.

He's poisoned me, dug his hooks into my soul, every cell is infected, too late to quarantine.

Just pour on the gasoline and watch me sing, promise you won't hear a more thought-provoking tune.

I look across him, the withered shell of the man that whipped up a mean bowl of pho more times than I could count. Those Chinese loan sharks descended upon him like locusts, stripping apart anything of value, until all that remains is the torn, dirt stained jeans, filthy open toed sandals, and the heap of meat that desperately clings on to them. They took his nipples, three of his fingers, even his right eye. The other one, just stares at me, the disgusting creature, just glares, his mouth widens, opens. His smile reveals his shattered teeth and raped pride. What did Nietzsche say about staring into the abyss?

It's wearing off, the ice, just had a little, tiny doses so I don't get too overexcited. Don't deserve it. Just enough to keep me through the motions. Got back on it. Back to rambling. Back to gambling. Can't even get motivated for this without a monetary angle.

Luis almost done mopping up. I yell "Luis!" "Yes?" he replies, in the blank, detached way he talks.

"Mas."

He turns to one of his independent contractors, a fat, bald Chinese man in this sleeveless leather jacket, currently stripping the last winner of his boots. He climbs up, turns toward a desk with a small packet of Takahashi's sweet delights, breaks a piece off, and drops it on an ashtray. Takes a meat tenderizer and the pounding drums get my blood excited. Alive, alive, I am so close to feeling alive!

The indentured servant delivers the keys to heaven, taking the snub nose from my lap. Matter of protocol, we were all frisked, no interference with the house rules. House always wins. Roanapur…always wins.

A rolled up 10 bhat bill courteously left in the tray, and I ritually prepare myself for the artistic masterpiece to be painted. Luis hovers his hand above mine, and I want to rip his neck out with my teeth. He speaks "This will go out of your winnings."

"I already know."

The prick backs off, and the world is now my oyster. Lean my head forward, let the tip of the straw tickle my nose hairs, and break on through to the other side.

I snort…oh…yes…yes! Yes yes yes this is the one! "THIS IS THE ONE! I'M EXCITED! I'M SO FUCKING EXCITED!" I can't stop stamping my feet, I am so excited! This is 1996 at the National Stadium and I am going to strike this ball through the upper right and there is nothing Roberto Bonano can about it!

I snort again, oh what a day, what a red letter day! Luis is loading his revolver! The fat man is loading mine! It's happening! It's finally happening! Oh what a great day to be alive!

I stamp my feet and yell "READY SUPHAWUT?! THIS IS GOING TO BE SO MUCH FUN!"

One more snort, one last one, to carry me all the way to the finish line! I drop the ashtray from excitement, oh give me the gun, give me the gun "PLEASE GIVE ME THE GUN!"

Suphawut is smiling! I am smiling! It's like a virus spreading! They are all smiling and having so much fun!

Luis stands in the middle with his Glock drawn and yells "Alright amigos! You ready?!" Crowds cheering and Suphawut nods! "You ready?!" I yell "OH HELL YES!" Oh I feel good, so good, good, good, good! I got a gal, named Revy, she almost drives me crazy!

"GO!" Suphawut first! Click! He sighs and smiles! I got a gal, named, Revy, she almost drives me crazy!

"GO!" Me next! Nothing but it's fine because "I GOT A PAPA, A DAD, THAT HUNG HIMSELF IN MY BED!"

"GO!" Him next, click! Nothing! "FUCK!" he yells, but that's alright cause "I GOT A FAMILY, NEW DAD, THEY ALL JUST LEFT ME FOR DEAD!"

"GO!" ME NEXT! CLICK! NOTHING, SO CLOSE! SO CLOSE, CAUSE "MY DAD, CAME AT NIGHT! AND INFECTED MY MIND AND LIFE!"

"GO!" CLICK!

*BANG*

"YOU BASTARD! YOU LUCKY, CHEATING BASTARD!"

He beat me to it that bastard! He cut me in line! He cut me in line!

"AND THE WINNER, FOR THE THIRD TIME! ROKURO OKAJIMA!" Flash photography, bhat raining down, two idiots swinging punches in the stands and I was close! So close! So close!

"LUIS!" I yell!

"Yeah?!" he replies, same detached tone and look on his face!

I smile and yell "UNO MAS!"


End file.
